Woman on Fire
by Jeanne Luz
Summary: Ziva seeks revenge for her sister's death. Perhaps the very first TIVA moment.


The usually disclaimers apply. This is just fanfic. I don't own these characters and I know it.

A/N This takes place about 6 months before Ziva joins NCIS. I got the idea from this from Kill Ari when she tells Tony after her sister died all she wanted was revenge and from Iced when she talks about revenge and I thought-I think she would.

X

Ziva stared into the eyes of the man across the table from her and wondered if he had any idea she was about to take his life. She watched him as he happily ate his antipasto. He lifted a bite on his fork and offered it to her. She shook her head no.

"Sure? It's good?"

"I'm sure it is. I'm just not hungry." She took a small sip of water. In truth she hadn't been hungry in months. She'd lost weight and was rail thin, even by her standards. The past few months she'd felt nothing but fire in her stomach as she plotted her revenge.

Possessed by her desire for vengeance she'd tracked her sister's killer to Florence Italy. She called in every favor, and owed many people even more. She had begged, borrowed and pleaded until she found him. She lured him with her body to a small café in a piazza on the tenth anniversary of her sister's death to end him.

He was not a suicide bomber himself. Rather he financed them and paid their families. He was just as guilty as if he'd detonated himself.

She had debated how to end his life. She was perfectly capable of executing him long range with a rifle, of snapping his neck or arranging an extremely embarrassing death. Nothing seemed fitting. She decided on poison. Not as messy or painful as her sister's death but it would allow her to look him in the eyes as he breathed his last. She had poured the contents of a small ampoule, her own special concoction, into his water glass. Within a seconds of drinking it he would start to seize violently. Then die. She watched him and willed him to drink but as of yet no luck.

Ziva wondered what would replace her anger once he was gone. Grief? Numbness? Joy? Would she be happy? Almost anything would be better than the lie she was living with herself now. She felt sick of having to pretend that her sister's death didn't bother her. She had pretended to be happy for the sake of her parents and brother until her soul felt hollow.

And so now she sat with the murderer of many in a café in Piazza de la Signoria, watching the tourists and locals mingle in front of a replica of the David and famous sculptures. The tourists moved about in wonder and awe. The locals with the sure footed steps of those who knew where they were going. She looked at her companion. He wouldn't feel the slightest bit of guilt if all these people were to die. How would what she was about to do be called murder?

Her eyes studied the faces in the crowd. She watched a little blonde girl throw crumbs to a flock of pigeons and felt a stab of pain.

As children six and eight, she and Tali sat playing on the sunny living room floor as the breeze from the ocean blew threw the open windows.

"_What do you want to be when you grow up?" Tali asked, rocking her doll._

"_I haven't decided." Ziva responded. "What ever daddy does." "Me. I want to be a mom." Tali said. _

"_That's it?"_

"_It's an important job." She said solemnly. "I'd be good at it."_

_Ziva laughed. "I know you would be."_

Ziva's hands shook, vibrated as the memory left her. She felt a surge of anger as strong as the tide. She wanted him gone.

Her companion's cell phone rang and he abruptly pushed back from the table. He left the café and turned his back on her. She watched him, engrossed in his conversation. He did not see her. Clad in a shapeless dress and head scarf she was invisible to him.

The waiter arrived and set a small plate of pasta in her companion's place.

Ziva's eye darted around the café. No one was looking. She grabbed the salt and sprinkled a generous amount onto his food.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him; the man from the hotel. They had bumped into each other in the hall that morning. He had sandy colored hair and beautiful eyes. He ate alone. Paula had left him early in the morning after a fight. She knew the woman's name. He was quite the raucous love maker.

He looked at her with the gaze of someone used to taking all the details and reading between the lines. It unnerved her. She would need to make a fast get away.

Her target returned. He sat took one bite of his food and made a disgusted face. "This is awful." He took a sip of water. Ziva swore she felt her heart stop. He clutched furtively at his chest. His body went rigid and he fell backwards in his chair and began to flop like a fish on a line.

She knelt by him, by all appearances the concerned wife. She looked in his panic stricken eyes and brought her mouth to his ear. "Her name was Tali. She was sixteen and a good person. You're no martyr, Enjoy hell." She saw the look in his eyes and she satisfaction.Then she stood and screamed for help, knowing full well it was too late.

She pushed her way back through the throng of people. She saw a woman start CPR. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the police approaching and heard the wail of the ambulance.

She walked swiftly away. Once out of the piazza she forced herself to slow down. The street was full of meandering people taking in the sights. She moved in the direction of the Duomo, the Cathedral that loomed in the square. It was painted green and white and spiraled high into the sky. The cupola reminded her of a giant breast.

She heard a male voice behind her calling for her to stop in English and Italian. She quickened her pace. It was the man from the hotel. She pushed her way through the mass of sight seers on the steps of the cathedral and passed through the massive doors.

Once inside she hurried into the confessional. Her sister would have disapproved. Tali was an idealist, careful to respect all and compassionate to the very end. Ziva had lost her ability for limitless compassion a long time ago. She was practical. She did what needed to be done. She closed the confessional door behind her and sat. The small latticework divider clicked open and a male voice said. "Is it done?"

"Yes." Her chest felt hollow, the anger having left a hole with in her.

She stripped off her baggy dress and headscarf. She rolled both into a neat ball and passed it through the opening. She now wore tight fitting jeans, and a tank top. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. "Will you meet me in London?"

"If I can. I have business in the States. But I'll try little sister." His hand passed a shoulder bag through the small opening. "Here. Take this. I didn't think you'd want to go back to the hotel."

Ziva opened it. It contained her passport under her name, cash, plane ticket and a few assorted personal items. She extracted a book. "Moby Dick?"

"It seems you've managed to kill your great white whale. Open it up."

She flipped through and found her necklace. She felt the familiar choke of sadness in her throat but did not cry. She removed it and fastened the clasp around her neck.

Tali had given it to her the day she started in the army.

Ziva had laughed. _I don't wear jewelry. _

Tali smiled sweetly. _It's not jewelry. It's reminder of faith and you'll need it._

Ziva hugged her and kissed her and never saw her alive again.

She stuck her hand through the opening and found her brother's hand. He squeezed it warmly. "Go."

X

On the steps of the Duomo she paused. She saw the man from the café scanning the crowd. He was handsome, American by the looks of him. She sighed. Another time, another place, she would be interested. Not now. She adjusted her sunglasses on her face and stumbled into him. He caught her arm and steadied her. "Scusi." She said laughing, as she disappeared into the crowd once again. She had done it simply to enjoy the fact that he'd never know how close he'd been to finding her.

She made her way to the taxi stand and the airport. In the air she buried her face in a pillow. She felt the burn of tears in her eyes and she blinked them back. Her throat felt like it would burst with the pain she'd swallowed. She ripped her buckle off and made her way to the aft restroom. She braced herself against the wall. The tears came. Hot and angry they flowed. She let go. She cried until she ran out of tears and white gunk filled her eyes. Relieved, she drew a shaky breath. It was done.

X

So what do you think? I always appreciate reviews. You honestly don't know how nice they are until you start writing. I have another 3 way fic in process as part of the tivadivas-and for all of you who asked for a sequel to Beyond it is in the works. Slow works. But you know me. You'll get it!


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